The Price
by itaje
Summary: Harry Potter is depressed and really messed up. But Voldemort has returned. Most of the wizarding world is looking for Harry to lead them. But Harry is really in no shape to. Extreme times call for extreme measures. What is the price of victory?
1. Meetings

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or anything associated with it. The others are mine. Resemblance of any character to an actual person is completely accidental. Please don't sue *shows pockets* look no money. 

" Harry," Professor McGonagall stood in front of him, her face a stoic mask, " the Headmaster will see you now." 

He chose not to answer. He hardly spoke to anyone nowadays, anyway. Walking past her, he entered the Headmaster's office.

He sat down on the seat offered to him by Dumbledore, refusing the customary offer of lemon drops. On one side of the office, in the shadows, sat another person.

A lady.

He ignored her and turned his attention to the Headmaster. Sensing his impatience, Dumbledore began.     

" Cedric's death affected us all. You, most of all, Harry."

Silence. If Dumbledore expected a response of any sort, it did not come.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. Harry's gaze did not waver at all. 

Suddenly, the lady who was sitting down a moment ago violently stood up. She strode up to the table and mock-glared at both of them.

" Seriously, I've had enough of this hemming and hawing. Albus, honestly, just tell the boy and be done with it! Anyone would think that your news is on the scale of an armageddon!" Dumbledore looked faintly aggrieved. 

She turned her attention to Harry. " Boy, you sure are a sorry excuse for the hero of the wizarding world. Going all brooding like this. Well, the core of this entire meeting is this, to put it bluntly that is, Albus is worried for you and seems to think that you haven't recovered from the impact of Diggory's death. So he's sending you to me for therapy. You're coming with me, boy, so that I can work on you a little. Yes, you're leaving Hogwarts, for a while anyway. I'll be teaching you what you've been missing." She turned and glanced at Dumbledore, " Have I got the points all down?"

Dumbledore mock-grimaced a little, " Yes, my dear, down to a pat."

"Good," said the still-unnamed lady, " Anything else?"

 "Yes," replied Dumbledore, a very slight smile on his face, " Introductions to Harry."

Harry found himself subjected to a very intense looking-over. Her laughing lynx coloured eyes hardened almost imperceptibly as she regarded him and her expression changed from one of easiness to something unreadable. 

She held out her gloved hand, " I am known by many names, Potter. You may address me as Dearbháil. Prepare your things. We leave tomorrow at first light."

He ignored her hand. He ignored many things nowadays. He nodded then slipped out of the office.

The two adults faced each other. Neither of them was sitting any longer. Any trace of the previous lightness was gone. 

Dearbháil glared at the Headmaster, " Lad-my-boy, you have a lot of explaining to do."

Dumbledore allowed himself a brief sigh; took off his spectacles, rubbed them on his robe and put them on again. "He seems to have lost all interest in life. He's becoming a shadow, I fear. This is the worst time for this. Voldemort's coming into power, we need Harry desperately."

Dearbháil interrupted him, her voice icy, "You want Potter as a symbol of hope, of the Light. You are going to try to raise him up to some kind of impossible, noble and good Defender of the Light. You are going to _use_ this poor boy who is seriously unstable and from what I see, a psychological mess."

Dumbledore met her gaze unflinchingly. "Voldemort is gathering his forces now, even as I speak. The wizarding world turns to its saviour to stand against him. We need him back, not this pale shadow, this _wraith_! They need to believe in something because they will not and cannot believe in themselves. They choose a teenage boy because he is the Boy-Who-Lived. I – we – cannot afford to let him languish away, the wizarding world needs him, thousands will flock to his standard at his call. We _need _him. "

Dearbháil raged, " Such great and stirring worlds, Albus, you foolish man, such matters of the heart are not to be trifled lightly with. Potter needs time. Time to cope, to face his grief, his guilt. That much is obvious, even to you. This deed that you ask of me is simply monstrous. You want me to condense years of healing into a couple of months. It is possible, I grant you, but the healing is not natural, it will be induced – the results, you know it, Dumbledore. He will never recover completely if you ask me to do this to him. He will scream and cry at night when his sub-conscious is freed and no longer subdued by my magic. He will never forget, only natural healing can dim his memory. He will forever remember Cedric's death, clearly imprinted in his mind."

" The freedom and happiness of the wizarding world comes at a great price."

" To be borne on the shoulders of a boy!"

" The boy whom our world places their hopes on."

" But still a boy."

" Then why did you tell him that I was sending him to you? Why did you even come?"

Silent tears ran down her cheeks. " Because…I knew that I would be your last resort."

Silence.

"He is going to become a robot, a mechanization. He will never feel any strong emotion again. You know this, Albus."

" I know." A heavy admission, he had weighed his choices carefully – the costs, the losses, and it still had to come to this.

" Is it worth it, Albus? He is a broken boy. Mortal. "

" But still the hope of the world."  

She sat down, hands lightly massaging her temples. She stared at him, the anguish in her eyes cutting to his very soul. Very softly, in a raw whisper that he almost missed, "I pray to the God for pardon for this hideous crime which I had once committed and am going to commit again."

He bent down and kissed her forehead lightly, " Pray for the both of us, beloved Dearbháil, and say another for Harry."

They remained like this for a moment; an ageless lady slumped down on a chair, grace forgotten, murmuring softly, hands clasped together and an old man standing over her, hands placed gently on the lady's shoulder, tears running down his wrinkled cheeks.  

Then she left and he remained in the solitary office, stroking Fawks in silent contemplation. 

Author's Note: How is it? Please review. Reviews will be very very much appreciated.


	2. Woe oh Woe!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or anything associated with it. The others are mine. Resemblance of any character to an actual person is completely accidental. Please don't sue *shows pockets* look no money. 

" Thus said he, weeping freely; you know not my woe, fair one…"

"Harry, would you please stop reading this sappy nonsense out loud?"

"…lady of mine heart, whose beauty knowest no bounds…"

"Harry, please."

"…indeed, my heart is troubled, and woe plagues me freely…"

"You do realise that woe and freely has been repeated twice?"

"Leave him alone," another voice snapped at the first, " he's been like this from the first day school started. If he wants to be a git, then let him."

"I've had enough of this!"

Hermione stomped up to the corner where Harry was curled up in, idling reading out loud. 

" Harry, please. Talk to us. What's wrong with you? Let the dead bury the dead. Cedric's dead, you've got to go on with your life."

_That cursed word again. Cedric. Bane of my life. It's all my damn fault. Damn you.  _

He ignored her.

" Harry, _please_." She seemed close to tears, wringing her hands like that. " Talk to me, to Ron…"

A muffled retort from another corner of the room. " Ron doesn't want to talk to him. Harry can go find some other people to talk to."

A cry of distress of Hermione. Suddenly hands grabbed his shoulders and shook him, " Harry, please. Don't be like this. You've been like this for ages. Please. Shout or something. Are you mad with us? Is it something we did? Harry? Harry?"

Harry felt a sudden detachment from this scene. It was as if he was watching a bushy-hair girl shaking a boy with black hair and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, while a red-haired lanky boy deliberately tried to ignore them. 

Harry-who-was-watching looked on silently.

Harry-whom-the-girl-was-shaking just stared the girl down. She held his gaze for a minute or two, and then dropped it. Weeping, she tore out of the room.

The sense of detachment faded, the weird sense of being split into two faded. Harry blinked rapidly. 

Then returned his attention to the book he was previously reading from. 

Ron tried to continue to ignore him. But after a minute or two, he stood up and said, in a voice trembling with anger and hurt, " You are such a bloke, you know? Hermione's worried about you, damn you! You hardly talked to us since school started, you never answered my or Hermione's or anybody's letters during the holidays and now you just read horrible prose out loud, annoying the hell out of everybody and ignoring them when they speak to you. You hardly do your work – now I'm starting to sound like Hermione, you skip classes and you broke your goddamn broom into two. You never play Quidditch anymore. What's wrong with you? What's your freaking problem? It's like you're in this freaking little world of yours and no one exists except you!"

_Exists. But Cedric doesn't exist anymore. My parents don't. What right do I have to do so? I try not to and here you are, screaming that I think that no one exists except me. Oh yeah, I forgot, I'm the Boy Who Lived, right? Oh silly me, the Boy Who Lived must carry on existing huh? Isn't it going to be ironic when I die? _

Ron continued his rant, " I try to talk to you. Hermione tries to talk to you. The _professors _try to talk to you. Man, even _Snape_ tried to have a word with you! He hardly got past two sentences before stomping off and deducting forty points off for disrespect! Gryffindors are going to come in last for the House Cups because of you. Even Neville doesn't get as many points deducted as you do. And you 

don't 

bloody 

care! 

No one's speaking to you anymore, only Hermione and me. But you don't even talk to us, you just natter on, burying yourself into those stupid poems and prose. I don't even know how much longer I can carry on like this! And every time Hermione tries to talk to you, you just stare back at her and I don't know what she sees in that gaze of yours, but it always ends with her crying her heart out."

Heart. I tried piecing my heart once. I tried to die many times. I think Dumbledore has put a spell on me. I can't kill **myself**. I tried, but I never get wounds. It's freaky, when I see the knife passing through me and leaving no wound. Like I'm a ghost.

Harry shuddered.

Ron saw his shudder and took it to mean that he was disgusted by Hermione's crying. It only served to enrage him more, " You horrible bastard! Hermione cares for you! I care for you! And you're disgusted by her tears? Man, what's happened to you? Face up, Harry, you can't be like this forever!"

He paused to draw breath again and caught sight of Harry's expression: cold yet sad, unmoved but vaguely interested in what he was saying, like he was talking about the weather. He stood there for a moment and did not speak. Then he too turned his back and walked off. 

Leaving Harry to his book. Harry cocked his heard to one side, still hearing echoes of Ron's rant ringing in the room. He then pushed what happened to the back of his mind as he had done many times before and returned to his book. 

"…for if I cannot have thee for my wife, I shall perish! Woe oh woe!"

~*~

It was night. Not midnight, but nearing it. Harry sat on his bed unmoving. Next to him, he could see that the curtains around Ron's bed were drawn, and hear snores emitting from there.

Slowly, he padded to Ron's bed and drew apart the curtains silently. He wanted to see Ron one last time before he left Hogwarts. He wanted to see Hermione too, but she was in the girls' dormitory and he did not want to be caught there.

Ron was sleeping, his limbs askew; one arm thrown over his head, another on his stomach, one leg tangled in the sheets and another almost at the edge of the bed. A slight frown furrowed his brow, one that had not been there before this year. Satisfied, Harry drew the curtains together and padded back to his bed.

Harry knew that something was not quite right with himself. Fine, he would be honest. Harry knew that something was downright wrong with himself. He didn't know why _this_ happened to him. It was just that _stuff_ started catching up with him while he was with the Dursleys. He just knew that **_something_** happened. 

Suddenly, nothing seemed to matter anymore, how could it when every single time he was unoccupied he was assailed with waves and waves of dark emotion, crashing into his soul. Grief, guilt, loss, pain, sorrow, anger, rage, hurt, all coming out from nowhere but _inside _him. At first, he wanted to owlDumbledore, Sirius, Hermione or Ron, just somebody. But what could he say? 

_Dear Dumbledore/Sirius/Hermione/Ron, I think something's wrong with me._ What was wrong with you, they would ask. _I don't know. Just something, I don't know how to put it into words properly._ They weren't mind readers – telepaths belonged to a period long forgotten already. 

Then the dreams. Dreams of people dying. They started nearing the end of the holidays. But his scars didn't hurt. He still owled Dumbledore at once. He could still remember what he wrote. 

_Headmaster, I keep having these dreams. Dreams of people dying. Sometimes I'm awake while I'm having them. But my scar doesn't hurt. I don't think Voldemort's the cause of their death. They die normally, not from magical means, I mean. I'll give you some example; women dying from rape, or just usual street muggings or murders, an old lady being robbed by some punks then later stabbed to death. Those sort of deaths that people die from when they are in a bad neighbourhood. Harry. _

He had reread the letter twice before sending it, hesitating, not wanting to raise a false alarm. The reply was comforting, for a while anyway. 

_Dear Harry, I have never heard of such happenings before. Rest assured that I will try and find help for you. I will be contacting one of my old friends, a contact. It will be difficult to trace her. But I am sure that she will be of help. Take good care of yourself. Sincerely, Dumbledore._

But by the time the term started, _it_ became worst. The number of dreams increased, those waves of dark emotions started pounding him, also increasing in intensity. He hardly spoke, fearing that those ugly demons would find an outlet there, causing him to start screaming or worst babbling non-stop. Then he remembered something he learnt last year. Control. If he could resist the Imperious; surely he could repress all those _things_. 

So he found an outlet of control. It could not be something that he liked. There was a chance of him forgetting in the heat of his enjoyment and lose control. It must be something that was shallow yet needing much concentration to follow and something that he could immediately draw out of, never getting too submerged in it. 

He found his solution by chance. 

A pile of books left in the Common Room by Parvati– romantic prose and poetry – flippant and nonsensical, written by a love-struck poet who had a horrible sense of rhyming. So, he bought those books from her, reading them aloud to himself everyday, inwardly cringing. He focused on those books, and for a while, those inside demons were repressed. 

He stopped listening to Hermione and Ron or the professors, he couldn't afford to. He got so good at it that he could almost detach himself away when they were trying to talk to him, or counsel him. He did not dare to unburden himself to them, unsure that he could regain his control after that. 

He knew one thing though. 

If he couldn't regain control, he would go mad. 

He then thought about Professor Dumbledore. When term started, he had gone to the Headmaster's office quite often. Sometimes, four days a week. But Dumbledore was no help. He could see that the man was trying though. Harry realised then that the Headmaster that he had so idolized was out of his league – Dumbledore had no idea what was happening, and that contact he promised had yet to arrive. Those inner demons continued to torment him and with his newfound knowledge of limit of Dumbledore's power, their efforts redoubled. When his visits ceased and when Dumbledore made no comment about it, he also lost hope in Dumbledore's promise.

It was then precious contact he had awaited for finally arrived. He met her. He did not want to judge her from mere appearances.

He dared not hope for any success.

It was too much to risk.  

 Author's Note: Okay. This is going to get a little confusing. Let me put in some points first.

Harry is still grieving for Cedric. He has not recovered properly from that yet. Harry is suffering from something else also: 

"every single time he was unoccupied he was assailed with waves and waves of dark emotion, crashing into his soul. Grief, guilt, loss, pain, sorrow, anger, rage, hurt, all coming out from nowhere but _inside _him"….that and the dreams.

Dumbledore has misunderstood Harry. He thinks that the dreams are caused by an after effect of Harry's grief. (He's not that all knowing =p) Therefore, Dearbháil has the wrong idea about Harry, because she only has information from Dumbledore. So both of them have devised a means of treatment and therapy, which will limit the range of Harry's emotions and also sped up his "healing". But because of this speed 'healing', he will never recover fully. Harry's inability to kill himself will be explained in later chapters. 

So yes, there will be some confusion between everyone, then the big realisation. That will come in the later chapters. You can email me if you have any questions or queries. *grins* As usual, reviews will be loved, appreciated and cherished like precious treasures. **Thanks for the earlier reviews; they were very, very encouraging.** Seriously. And yes, dear Anon, there are such things as lynx coloured eyes. 


	3. Demons are not my forte

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or anything associated with it. The others are mine. Resemblance of any character to an actual person is completely accidental. Please don't sue *shows pockets* look no money. 

They left at first light, when the first rays of sunlight gently lit up the sky, turning it into a palette of crimson and gold intermingled with tones of rich blue. 

A carriage was ordered as Potter was underage and could not Apparate. Magicked to carry its passengers to their desired locations; it could travel over sea and any terrain. The Headmaster and Professor McGonagoll saw them to the entrance of Hogwarts, where the carriage was already waiting. The goodbyes were brief and almost curt.

And then they were off.

Harry sat on the seat nearest to the window and started reading aloud. He caught Dearbháil giving him a sharp glance and was very surprised when she left him alone, slumping back into her seat tiredly. 

This only served to increase his doubts on her ability.

Dearbháil was drained – emotionally, anyway. Her talk with Dumbledore did not allay her fears, rather it worsened it. She dared not even risk a light probe into the boy's mind, for there were no shields here in this carriage, no wards; a psychic backlash from probing was highly possible and both of them would not be protected. She was startled when the boy ignored her presence and started reading out loud. 

Then she realised the material he was reading out loud was drabble: pure and simple.  

Something was wrong here, she knew at once. This picture did not fit properly; there was something here that did not fit the pretty puzzle Dumbledore had drawn out for her. So, considering all her options carefully, she chose the most efficient and effective one.

She went to sleep.

After all, she could not probe Potter. She would be better conserving her energy; common sense told her that her life was soon going to enter a state often christened as permanent hell. 

~*~

The journey took a week, helped along with the good weather. Food was provided magically, appearing for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Conversation was minimal since Harry was exerting all his will to control those inner demons, which had doubled in intensity and Dearbháil, sensing his reluctance, did not make further attempts to engage him. 

Harry was starting to be _really_ frightened now; his grip on sanity was loosening despite all his attempts to cling on to reality. Depression was just around the corner, in the same corridor where mood swings and withdrawal lurked. His nerve was fraying and he felt like a time bomb, slowly ticking off. 

It was just a matter of time.

Correction.

It was just a matter of hours.

~*~

As they neared their destination, Dearbháil was curious as to what form her lands would take. Magically charmed to take the most appropriate form that would allow the guest to be comfortable, this transformation never ceased to amuse her. When she was alone, it reverted back to its true form, a beautiful chateau that sprawled amid vivid greenery and shimmering lakes. 

Frankly, the result amazed her. She was expecting something grander perhaps, from Potter. Instead, before her very eyes, was a homely, if small cottage with the distinctive English air about it. Trees lined the meandering gravelled pathway, a small pond on the far side of the building, mini hanging gardens on the front porch. It was breathtakingly simple and yet unique in its own beauty. 

She sneaked a glance at the boy. His eyes were tired and there was a strained look on his face. He seemed unaware of his surroundings, his entire attention focused on his fingers on his lap, which were currently dancing together in graceful, intricate and utterly random movements. 

Horribly uneasy, she cleared her throat and spoke, " Potter, we have arrived."

Potter was startled out of his reverie and blinked furiously. He peered outside the carriage, before slumping back onto his seat, eyes glazed over. 

Dearbháil was very tempted to hit him, just to shake him out of his dream world. It nearly broke her heart to see this boy wizarding hero come to this state – a mere marionette whose strings seemed to be cut.

Nearly.

" Potter, out of the carriage now." She injected some harshness into her voice, trying to gauge the extent of his apathy. 

No reaction.

Feeling a sudden surge of urgency, Dearbháil repeated herself with more emphasis and was rewarded with the unlocking of the carriage doors and the subsequent trudging to the house. She pulled out her ward and sent the carriage away before turning her attentions to more important matters.

~*~

A voice.

_Nonono…Go away! Can't you see I'm trying to concentrate here?_

"Harry, come with me."

_Where? Leave me alone! HelpmeleavemealoneIdon'twanttobelikethis_

"Harry, shhh…sit down."

_IamlosingcontrolHelpmehelpmehelpmepleasehelp_

" Relax Harry, I've activated the necessary protections. Loosen your shields."

Can'tcan'tdon'twanttoamlosingCONTROL 

"Harry, _Harry_! Loosen your shields, boy, damn it! Otherwise, I'll have to force my way through!"

Nonononono! JustleavemealonenonononeedhelpshitlosingCONTROL 

He felt his mind slowly shifting away. 

He felt himself becoming that _other _observer. 

He felt his control slip. 

He felt another sharp probe from Dearbháil. 

Then, he felt nothing as the explosion of emotions rocked and pounded through his mind.

~*~

Dearbháil had to drag the boy to her workroom, and force him to sit down. His eyes were vaguely glazed and had a feverish tinge to it. She felt his forehead. 

His temperature was normal.

She had to start the examination fast. 

She did a cursory check on the protective shields around the room. They were perfectly sound; a faint shimmer in the air. She knelt down in front of the seated boy, bringing her to his height. 

Dearbháil did a light probe and waited for any adverse reaction or any reaction from that matter.

There was none.

A sense of premonition tingled down her spine. Something was dead wrong with the boy. Everyone reacted to metal probes – their shields either went up or down, either tightened or relaxed. His did neither.

She knew what she had to do and didn't like it at all. A mutual probe (in which the person _being probed_, _willing_ lowered his shields would have been safer as the person _probing_ would in turn have no need to lower his shields, thereby eliminating the factor of mental vulnerability) was entirely out of the question. Harry had not responded at all to her coaxes, it seemed as if he had completely lost all conscious thought. 

She would have to force her way through his natural mental shields. This meant that she would be totally vulnerable to any harm directed at her when she made first contact with his mind, as her shields would have to be lowered to compensate for his.

She took a moment to recollect herself and sent a mental call to Dumbledore, several countries away and prayed that he would apparate here as soon as possible.  

At least someone would know that something was not right if anything happened to her and the boy.

She had to do the examination _now_. The boy looked as if he was going to break at any moment. It was too coincidental that his condition worsened the moment they arrived. Steeling her nerves, Dearbháil lowered her shields cautiously. Then she started on removing his, layer by layer. 

When she peeled off the last layer, she hesitated for a split second before plunging into his mind.

~*~

First Contact scalded…that was all she was aware of…mental torches, smog and the smell of burning sulphur surrounded her, gathered around her, trying to trap her in his head. She murmured a dispelling charm, which quickly scattered the remaining defences in his mind. 

Then the source of Potter's troubles made itself known to her.

She screamed and tried to flinch away as a barrage of emotions battered on her mental projection. Torrents of grief, pain and guilt, coupled with disjointed images of bloody deaths overwhelmed her immediately.

This was nothing like she had seen. Dumbledore had underestimated the extent of the boy's troubles. This could not just be the result of one boy's grief over another…this was that and **more**…

An old woman stabbed by a punk for no other reason but that she was at the wrong place, at the wrong time… 

A child backed to a wall by a man twice her size before being violently raped, then strangled to death…

And finally, Cedric's death…in which the images had mutated and shades were circling **him**, shrilling for **his** death, not Cedric's…

**Stop! Stop!** She cried, waving helplessly at the images, trying to make them disappear. **Why do you make yourselves apparent to him?**

The swirling images paused in mid-action. Then, as one, they burst into flames. The flames coalesced together, taking a vaguely humanoid form. She trembled again as a fresh wave of intense emotions washed over her and felt a sharp stirring of massive power. 

Demon!

**We have need of him. He is to be Our Avatar. Tom Riddle is trying his hand against the powers of Hell, and we have chosen Potter to face him.**

**Why are you causing him grief? **She felt faint puzzlement from the demon.

**He is fighting us, trying to push us away. We are fighting back, if we are repelled, the Dark One will not be happy. We would prefer to have him whole and willing, but a mere shell will do for our purposes.**

**He does not understand…**a dawning realisation struck her. **He will not leave you be because you have not explained your presence to him. He does not accept things easily. **

**He must accept.******

**Let me speak to him. Let me shield him from you. Let me tell him what you wish him to do. He will hear no words from you. He does not understand the tongue of Demons.**

She felt the demon pausing in a moment's thought. Seconds passed, seemingly like hours. She felt a sinking feeling in her gut: you did not talk to demons unprotected, their magical signatures were so strong that an extended period of exposure to them would slowly siphon of yours. 

Nor was it advisable to bargain with them.   

**Very well. Since you believe that you will succeed where we have failed. But we will eat your heart if you do not. **

She almost laughed at the typicality of that statement. Almost. It was practically the most common threat demons made.  **What do you wish for him to know?**

**It was not meant for your ears, Sirab. **She shivered at the implications of that address.**But We suppose you would need some details while explaining to the boy.**The form leaned forward and placed an icy finger on her temple.**Here.******

She arched under its touch and curled into a foetal position, as the flow of knowledge was too fast for her to absorb without any strain. Things clicked together to fast for her to consciously understand; her mind working in an overdrive but her ability to think was muddled under the sudden influx of uncontrolled information. At last, information slowed to a trickle, and finally to a stop. 

The demon forced her to stand, and she stood up, swaying dizzily. 

**Fulfil your end of the deal, Sirab. **

**Huh?**

**S**he heard the demon mutter under its breath. 

**The shields, you stupid creature. **

**Huh? What? Oh…**

Reining in the last remaining strands of her power and with the demon's help, she created a mental shield that would filter out some amount of the demon's presence from Potter's mind. Then, building on the previous shield, she added another that would cement the filtering and a third that would act as an anchoring base for the two. They were flimsy ones: not her best work by far, but right now, she didn't give a damn about it. She felt the demon release its hold on her and fade into the recesses of Potter's mind, gathering its strength until the shields were taken off. 

Something told her that she should have tried to banish that demon, and not merely just shield Potter. But right now, she **really, really** didn't give a damn. 

Dearbháil retreated from Potter's mind, feeling all the shields go back up layer by layer. Then, she sank back into her physical body and slumped down. 

Her last conscious thought was that demons were definitely not her forte. 

Author's notes: Well, comments or criticism anyone? Confused? Please review and I'll try my best to answer. The demon addressing 

Dearbháil as  'sihab' will be explained later. **Much thanks to everyone who reviewed earlier. ***distributes chocolates and hugs* And for fears that Dearbháil might end up as a Mary-Sue, *grins* I'll try very hard not to let her. 


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